Queen Takes Pawn
by VanillaRage
Summary: All the Dragonborn wants is to be left alone; jaded and embittered at the schemes and machinations of the political machine in Skyrim, she abandoned her role as Hero a long time ago. But she can't ignore the looming threat of Miraak, or the presence of a former lover suddenly complicating her life.
1. Chapter 1

**Queen Takes Pawn**

**_Disclaimer_**_: The Elder Scrolls Franchise is the intellectual and legal property of Bethseda Softworks. No copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit made.  
_**Summary**: All the Dragonborn wants is to be left alone; jaded and embittered at the schemes and machinations of the political machine in Skyrim, she abandoned her role of Hero a long time ago. But she can't ignore the looming threat of Miraak, or the presence of a former lover suddenly complicating her life.  
**Pairing:** Teldryn Sero/F!Dragonborn  
**Spoilers: **Dragonborn DLC spoilers ahoy!  
**A/N:** Anyone else find the number of titles you can earn as the Dragonborn ridiculous? It was after I earned Arch-Mage in the College of Winterhold questline without using magic that I realized that there was absolutely no way the Dragonborn received all of those titles through their own merit. Having a Hero of Legend associated with you and your organization is possibly the best PR ever conceived.

The World-Eater had been dead for ten years and according to hearsay the Dragonborn had died along with him.

This was, as most rumors are, untrue. Dovrasi was alive and well and as far from Skyrim as she could get. Currently she was residing in Kvatch. She liked Kvatch; it was near the Gold Coast and was a city big enough to hide in if that's what you were looking for. She spent time making friends with her neighbors, pursuing alchemy as a hobby, and was thrilled in general that no one knew of her history or asked her for any favors more daunting than borrowing a pot full of honey. It was quiet, uneventful, boring, the score of Thalmor walking around within the city annoyed her, but so far the peace that came with anonymity was worth the drawbacks.

It held the added bonus that Kvatch had its own Patron Saint of a Hero, long dead by over 200 years. No one cared that a living legend walked among them, buying her bread, her meat and her cheese like an average citizen of the Empire. Not that Dovrasi ever clued them in; living without the expectation that she was supposed to do something about the myriad of problems that faced everyone every day suited her just fine.

It was on a Mundus in the Second Seed when that carefully built peace was destroyed. The day had begun normally enough; she was in the market with her basket, looking over the meat offered by Erthgorn Sagelake.

"What do you have today, you old fraud?" She grinned at him as she picked over his wares, like she always did.

"Meat too good for the likes of you," He fell easily into their traditional banter. "If all you do is complain about what I offer I don't see why you bother to come at all."

"For the charming wit and hospitality of course!" she winked at him. "And because you adore me so it would be a cruelty to deny you my companionship."

Erthgorn laughed. "You call me the fraud when you have the silver tongue of Dibella herself. You've been hanging around Kaira too long."

She dickered with the Bosmer for a few more minutes, bartering both the price and an exchange of services until she left with a haunch of goat meat and he had extracted a promise for one of her vials of invisibility. Several other townspeople loitered around the marketplace and she greeted them all by name. It was a quiet, pleasant sort of day. The sort of day where bad things shouldn't happen…but they always seem to anyway.

Dovrasi's heart sank when she saw trouble, with a capita walk into the town square that served as the market. They were both dressed in brown robes, and had their faces hidden behind an awful mask that would have resembled a skull if it weren't for the pointy bits down near the bottom of it. The familiar feeling in her gut -the one that had kept her alive for so long despite her penchant for running headfirst into danger with naught but her bow and a terrifying, tooth-filled grin -was telling her that these men were dangerous, and more importantly, they were here for her.

They approached a Nord, a tall blonde woman whom Dovrasi hadn't noticed around town before. She strained to hear their conversation, missing what the men asked, their voices muffled by the masks they wore. The woman's reply was clear as day.

"I do not know of the woman you seek," she said disdainfully. "Nor have I time to entertain your petty concerns." She turned on them, and strode away from the marketplace. The men regarded her for a long moment, and one seemed to raise his hand to cast a spell in her direction when his companion forced his hand down. There were more murmurings and soon they ignored the woman as thoroughly as she had ignored them.

Dovrasi swore under her breath, lowering herself into a crouch behind a nearby stand as she kept an eye on the two strangers while trying to keep out of their line of sight. When she had first learned of her destiny as the Dragonborn the admiration and respect had been a heady feast for a starving soul who had been raised in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm. But as time went on and her fame and titles grew so did the attention and the demands on her time. Eventually she had become sick unto death of being used and manipulated into being a Thane (of multiple Holds) a Companion, Arch-Mage, Legate, Champion of Azura, Merida, Mephala, Clavicus Vile, Sanguine, Mehrunes Dagon (accidental as that one had been), and even a wife. Two years after she defeated Alduin Dovrasi had quietly absconded all of her titles to leave Skyrim with no word, no warning, and no forwarding address. She had come to realize that no one had wanted the skills and experience that she had earned on her own; they had all wanted the bragging rights that came with associating with the Dragonborn.

Oblivion knew it was why her damned s'wit of a husband had married her, and she'd bet her eyeteeth it was what had drawn these two strangers with obviously ill intentions into Kvatch.

Tired of observing (which was really just hiding and waiting) Dovrasi stepped out of the shadows in full view of the men. These days she didn't go around armed; she was clad only in a simple peasant's dress and held nothing more in her hands than her basket filled with that mornings purchases.

"What business do you have in Kvatch, strangers?" She called, standing tall and regal. Her red eyes narrowed at them as they turned around to inspect her. They approached, their movements turning serpentine as one took her left and the other flanked her on the right.

"It's the Pretender," one of the men said. "You cannot escape the truth. You cannot escape the True Dragonborn!"

The second man spoke. "When Lord Miraak appears, none shall dare oppose him."

Then all chaos she had been expecting broke loose.

Most people, when they find themselves on the wrong end of an assassination attempt, cower, flee, or beg for mercy as they lose control of their bodies and the odor of urine fills the air. It's an expected, even understood, reaction. Dovrasi was not one of those people; she simply let the rage build as she conjured a blade in one hand and felt the power of the Thu'um gather in her throat.

She dove to the side, somersaulting to her feet to avoid the Chain Lightning the men directed at her. Townspeople fled, screaming in fear, away from the battle unfolding in the middle of the town square. More than one guard fell from the mens' magicka, and Dovrasi took advantage of the noise and confusion to unleash the first Shout she had used in years.

Her Thu'um was perfectly timed; no one but the intended targets were caught in the brutally punishing force. One was killed instantly, his skull connecting against the corner of a nearby house to thoughtfully decorate the white walls with the color of his blood and the grey splatter of his brains. The second lost his feet, tumbling ass over tail-feather, barely missing the same fate as his comrade by mere centimeters. Dovrasi ran after him, as fleet-footed as she had been ten years ago, ducking past the shell shocked guards and townspeople who were still trying to figure out just what exactly had happened. Before he realized his stroke of good luck, or even that he'd had one, she was on him; a spitting, snarling embodiment of rage. His mask was ripped off and the spectral blade in her hand shoved against his throat. Her knee pressed painfully into his gut while her thumb was strategically placed near his right eye.

"Who sent you, n'wah?" Her spittle rained on his face.

"My Master," he groaned. "Lord Miraak."

"Who," she growled, digging her knee deeper into his gut simply because she wanted to, "in Oblivion is Miraak? What does he want with me?"

Her captive struggled underneath her, his eyes wide with a terror he hadn't felt in years. The stench of feces became apparent as he lost control of his bowels. "He'll kill me," was all he would wail.

"So will I," she threatened. A stain of red seeped through the fabric of his robes as she twisted the blade in her hand into his flesh. "If you didn't notice, my threat is much more immediate."

"Solstheim," he cried out. "We came from Solstheim to remove the false Dragonborn, so that our Lord may return unfettered!"

Above him Dovrasi stilled, the weapon in her hand dissipating to where she had conjured it from. She stood abruptly.

"Get that out of here," she ordered flatly to the contingent of guards waiting nearby, prodding the prone body at her feet. Around her she felt the stares of the townspeople; her friends and her neighbors, the people who had up until now assumed she had only been a friendly alchemist. Soon, after the shock wore off, the questions would come, followed by the favors, then the never ending politics where she was nothing but a mere pawn.

"Child of Akatosh," she heard in an awed whisper. That proclamation opened the floodgates of commentary and in the cacophony of noise she heard the theory that maybe she was a long lost Septim heir.

No.

Fuck no.

She pushed and shouldered her way out of the crowd, ignoring the sudden onslaught of gossip and awe-struck stares. When she finally managed to push her way free from the crowd she broke into a dead run for her home, running as if a dremora was on her heels. Her door slammed behind her and in the quiet solitude of her home she felt the peace she had spent so long searching for shatter like the fragile glass it had always been.

She screamed in Dunmeri, throwing a goblet across as the room even as her brain ran through its pragmatic list of what needed to be done if she wanted to make as clean a getaway as was possible. She had no time to mourn the life she'd had before this clusterfuck on the chance that even the illusion of control slipped through her fingers.

Upstairs, a simple set of leather armor and her ebony bow had lain idly since she had come to Kvatch. That armor and the bow had been bought with the money she had earned as she was leaving Skyrim for good, the only things that had held no attached strings, and therefore the only things she had kept from her old life. Other than the need for a new bowstring, the bow was in good condition for which she was thankful. The armor, serviceable but worn, slipped on like an old friend, her fingers remembering every buckle and tie, even that one wonky one she'd never had properly repaired.

The situation wasn't ideal but being back in her armor with her bow in hand felt…freeing. The prospect of fighting, conquering, to be herself instead of this pale imitation of what she had used to be in order to be left alone was a powerful feeling. It felt good and right to be doing something instead of simply letting life pass her by.

She threw a few essentials into her pack; a pouch full of septims, a few potions of cure disease, and restoratives for both her health and magicka when a knock on the door interrupted her mental checklist. It was tempting to ignore the knocking by sneaking out a window in the back but her house was in the middle of town and such an action would actually draw more attention. With a sigh, Dovrasi opened the door.

"What's this horseshit about you being some sort of God?"

"Hello, Kaira."

"Don't you hello me, you pain in my backside," the tiny Imperial humphed, pulling out a chair like she owned the place. "I always knew you had a touch of the Divine upon you…Oh don't give me that stupid sheep's look, I'm a priestess of Dibella, I'm not *stupid* you know. At the very least I should be able to see that," Kaira pinned a stern eye on the squirming Dunmer with a pointed glare. "I never asked about it because any fool could see you didn't want to be asked. So I'm calling upon all the favors I never asked of you in our years of friendship to ask you now."

Dovrasi told her.

"Well," Kyra said, leaning back against the chair like the wind had been knocked out of her. "Well."

"Quite," Dovrasi agreed. She flicked the key of her home towards Kaira. "Here, take this."

Kaira caught the key, inspecting it between her fingers. "You want I should watch your house for you?"

"I'm not coming back," Dovrasi stretched. "You can take the house and everything in it."

Kaira gaped at her like a fish. "You're joking."

"No joke, no catch, no lie. I probably won't come back to Cyrodiil."

Kaira reached over to punch Dovrasi in the shoulder. She immediately blew on her knuckles when she realized how hard that armor actually was. "I'm going to miss you, you stupid goat."

"And that's why you get the house," Dovrasi chuckled. "Host an orgy in my honor."

"I should," Kaira grumbled, still shaking her hand. "It certainly didn't see any action with your celibate ass living here. While you're out there putting the fear of you into this Miraak asshat, you should fix that."

"Fix my celibacy?" Dovrasi raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting married again, Kaira. That went so well the first time, why would I want a repeat performance?"

"Who said anything about marriage?" Kaira shot back, grinning wickedly. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

"I'll think about it," Dovrasi said, knowing she'd do no such thing.

"Write me," Kaira stood as Dovrasi did a quick look over in her pack to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. "Even if you think I can't write back, write me anyway. I wanna know how your stupid horker's face is doing."

Dovrasi nodded, and that was a promise she would have kept even if she hadn't been asked. She didn't say another word as she walked out of her house and out of the town she had called home for the past eight years.

* * *

On the road from Cyrodiil into Skyrim she'd had a number of run-ins with cultists. In a gambit to lose them she had eschewed the straightest path from Kvatch into Skyrim, choosing instead to detour into Chorrel. She hoped the fact that she hadn't been accosted in weeks meant that she had been successful; she'd recently crossed the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim and Riverwood was in sight.

Because of her connection with both Hadvar and Delphine, the ties Dovrasi had to Riverwood were causing a queasy, rolling, sick sensation in her gut. Miraak's little lackey hadn't been as forthcoming with information as she had wanted him to be and a stop at the Throat of the World would be in order before she figured out a way into Solstheim. To get to the Throat of the World, she desperately needed to resupply before she continued and in there laid the rub. People didn't leave little towns like Riverwood; it was a profitable trade center connecting Whiterun to Cyrodiil and there was a good chance she still knew a good many of the people who lived there. The last thing she wanted was to drag the trouble following her onto their literal doorsteps. The sooner she could complete her business and quit the sleepy little hamlet the better off everyone would be.

Lucan Valerius was behind the counter of the Riverwood Trader; his hair had thinned and he was a little long in the tooth but he had that same booming voice and welcoming manner she remembered from way back when. She approached casually trying to keep her face shadowed by the hood of her cloak. She placed her pack on a clear spot on the counter between her and Lucan.

"Hello, traveler!" Lucan leaned in on his elbows at her approach. "Welcome to Riverwood Trader. Everything you see is for sale, and if you don't see it I may have it in the back."

So far Lucan didn't seem to recognize her and Dovrasi wanted to keep it that way. She rifled through her pack casually, sorting through her sundries to take a quick mental stock of what she had and what she needed. There were a handful of gems at the bottom that she pulled out to set them in front of her. "Do you have any restoratives for physical health?" she asked. "Or even magicka?"

"I've got both," he said, turning around to sort through the shelf behind him. He pulled out two small philters: one red, one blue. She nodded approvingly then pushed the handful of gems toward him.

"Those cover the cost?"

Lucan picked up a ruby, examining it closely. He picked up a few more and appraised each one with a quiet hum and practiced eye. "More than enough," he finally said. "Enough to cover the cost of another philter, if you wanted."

"Do you have one that cures disease?" she asked. "I've been finding myself running into a lot of vampires lately and I don't want to be caught short."

"I do," Lucan reached to his left to push the desired philter toward her. "You're still coming out poorer for the trade however."

"It's fine," she shrugged as she rearranged her new items so the glass bottles wouldn't break. It was hard to see the interior of her bag in the dim light so she pushed the cowl of her cloak from her face. "They're just taking room in my pack and it's nice to be able to find someone willing to do a straight trade."

Lucan's eyes narrowed at her and his mouth pursed. "You look familiar," he began tapping his finger to his chin. "This your first time in Riverwood, stranger?"

She froze for a moment, fingers clenching around the philter of cure disease so hard she nearly broke it. "I've been to a lot of places," she said carefully, taking care to avoid looking Lucan in the eyes as she readjusted her hood to hide her face in the shadows again. "Maybe you've seen me here a time or two."

Lucan continued to peer at her, that finger continuously tapping at his chin. "My sister and I," he began, "lost a valuable family heirloom once upon a time. Drove Camilla insane; she wanted to go after the thieves herself. A mercenary took it upon herself to go retrieve that heirloom for us. She looked a lot like you do, come to think of it."

Dovrasi forced a laugh. "Well, you know how all we Dunmer all look alike! I suppose it's possible I have a doppleganger out there somewhere."

Lucan kept that stoic, all too knowing face for a moment longer before he broke into a wide grin. "Well wherever she is, I hope she's doing all right for herself."

Relief flooded her. She returned his smile, looking into his face for the first time since she walked into the outpost. "I'm sure she's doing fine."

"I bet she is," Lucan winked. Dovrasi shouldered her pack and headed to the door. She made sure she was gone before morning.

Being back in Skyrim brought with it a powerful wave of nostalgia. She wanted to look upon Jorrvaskr, to see how Balgruf was doing, and if the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes had ever settled their feud after the cessation of the civil war. Whiterun had been the first place that had felt like home, and it had welcomed her with open arms. If there had been any regret in leaving Skyrim, it had been leaving behind Whiterun Hold and everything in it. It was with a heavy heart and a stern reminder of her purpose that she forcibly turned right at the intersection at the bottom of the mountain, making certain her feet took her steadily toward Iverstead.

It had been a long time since she had gone to see Paarthurnax. The steps were steep and it seemed like there was a pilgrim at every plaque. She ignored them all, intent on getting to the top as quickly as possible. The air thinned the higher she climbed and when a frost troll appeared she thought for a moment she was in trouble. But somehow through some creative dodging and her every trusty bow, she eventually panted over the damn thing's carcass, victorious.

It wasn't long after when the impressive building of High Hrothgar came into view. She mounted the steps with no ceremony, pushing the doors open as if being in the sacred monastery was her birthright. Her sudden appearance startled the usually stoic Borri out of the meditative trance he'd been maintaining in the front hall. Dovrasi breezed past him, not bothering to acknowledge him or Arngeir, who had come running to see who had caused a disturbance in their sanctuary. The door to the courtyard drew ever closer as she hurried through the hall, hoping that if she were gone before the Greybeards had regained their bearings she could avoid the confrontation she had felt building eight years earlier.

"Dovahkiin," Arngeir called, stopping Dovrasi in her tracks. "We had believed you dead."

Despite the long talks she'd had with herself the entire way here from Kvatch, Dovrasi felt her posture shrink and her bluster diminish in front of the four men who had taught her much all those years ago. "I'm glad to find you in good health," she said with sincerity, bowing formally in greeting. They did not return the gesture.

"You abandoned your training," Arngeir said sternly. "This place is sacred; if you have come here for a selfish purpose that is a blasphemy we cannot tolerate."

The undercurrent of anger in Arngeir's usual even-keeled tone confused her. They hadn't shown any anger when Ulfric had used their teachings to start his war, and she took a step back, adopting an even more humble posture as she felt herself dip into a bow.

"I need to consult with the Master," she said, hating how small and scared and petulant she sounded. "It's a matter of vital importance."

Part of her, the part that was more _dov _than mer, railed against her humility and quiet acceptance of their crushing guilt and disappointment. That part pointed out that she had done nothing to earn their ire; she hadn't supplicated herself before them for their assistance or their training. They had been the ones to seek out and summon her. She wanted badly to point that out, to reclaim that bravado, fearlessness and simple knowledge that the only person to whom she owed any sort of obligation to was herself. She felt that hard won truth slipping through her fingers under the heavy regard of those she had disappointed no matter how tightly she tried to cling to it.

But old habits die hard and she stood silently as she allowed them to berate her.

"The Blades numbers have increased and their force has strengthened these past years," Arngeir said.

This confused her even further. "Ah?" she said when it became apparent they expected her to say something. Arngeir merely scowled at her.

"Though they are not yet the force they used to be," he continued, "it is undoubtable that they will once again rally to the glory and prestige they once enjoyed in eras past, guided as they are by *your* former associates."

"Er, isn't that a good thing?" Bewilderment filled her as she tried to guess at what Arngeir was getting at. "I know there are dragons still around; I saw several while in Cyrodiil. Isn't it necessary to have a group of experienced fighters to stave off the threat of those that have chosen not to follow Paarthurnax?"

"What good do they do?" Arngeir scoffed. "They are still hunted by the Thalmor and largely remain in hiding. Killing the remaining dragons who continue to be a threat to the people is not their priority."

"If they're in hiding," she asked tentatively, "how do you know so much about them?"

"Because they have not forgotten who our Master is and their grudge causes them to be reckless." The evident bitterness Arngeir held for the Blades, evidenced by his menacing stare and accusatory tone, made her realize the point that Arngeir had been steadily driving at.

"That's…I'm….It's…" Struck speechless at Arngeir's insinuation, Dovrasi was left scrabbling for a defense. She thought it had been bad enough when they had been merely heavy handed at her abandonment of her training but now that there was an indirect accusation of duplicity and well, murder, laid at her feet she felt like the rug had been yanked out from underneath her.

She wanted to prostrate herself before them to beg their forgiveness for her hubris. She wanted their praise, their acceptance and their pride in her accomplishments like they had in her once before. She wished she'd never left, that the floor would swallow up her small, insignificant self so that they would not be bothered by her presence.

On the other hand, she also felt a lot of the rage that had been simmering under the surface since she had been attacked in Kvatch rise up from the pit of her stomach at the proof that she was considered what she had always feared she had become; a mere lackey moved about by the whims and machinations of the various organizations who had always wanted to use her status and powers for their own benefit to the exclusion of everyone else.

She felt very conflicted. She took three deep breaths to calm her mind before settling somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.

"To be clear," she said finally, proud that there was no tremor of either fear or rage in her voice, "are you suggesting that I have come at the behest of the Blades to murder Paarthurnax?"

"One of our visitors indicated that all of their senior officers had been handpicked by the Dragonborn herself," Arngeir replied. "Thus far the storms that lead to the peak where our Master resides have been enough to deter them. It is a logical assumption that after so many failures, the one who helped the Blades rebuild would come back to fulfill what had once been requested of her."

Suddenly all that inner conflict that had her torn disappeared and Dovrasi had no more desire to offer her neck in supplication than she did to pick a fight with a giant over a goat barehanded. All that left her with was the cold cloak of enraged fury; her feet shifted into a wider stance, her back straightened and her head lifted as she tore the hood of her cloak from her head. Red eyes flashed and grey lips thinned into a straight line. She regarded them all with a cool stare.

"Do you think so little of me then?" She asked quietly. "I suppose it bears reminding that I did not come to you for the training you offered to me. You are the ones who called for me."

She held up three fingers. "Three. I brought three new recruits to Delphine and Esbern to be initiated into the Blades. Warriors who had fought by my side and whom I knew would be an asset in training others in killing dragons. Furthermore, I wasn't *requested* to kill Paarthurnax, I was ordered too. Delphine told me I was not welcome back until he was dead."

She took a deep breath. "I am going to tell you the same thing I told her."

"I don't take orders from the Blades. I don't take orders from you, from the Empire, from the Deadra or the Aedra. I am the only person to whom I must be held accountable and I am sick unto death of everyone acting as if I owe them."

"I've killed your World-Eater. I've ended the Civil War. I have done everything that has been asked of me and more. I no longer care what you want from me. I'm not just the Dragonborn, and maybe it's about damn time you remember that."

She turned on her heel and walked out the doors with her head held high and kept it that way until she was the apex of the mountain. At her approach, the old Dragon, as ever perched on his Word Wall, swung his massive head around to regard her thoughtfully.

"_Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin,"_ he greeted in his raspy age worn voice. "It has been many years since you have come."

Paarthrunax said this the same way as if he were commenting that the sky was blue that day, or the snow was cold; the absolute lack of reproof in his comment blew out her rage like it was no more than a flame on a candle. She dropped to one knee, bowing her head in a sincere gesture of humility.

"Master," she greeted. "I find myself in a crisis and have come to you for instruction."


	2. Opening Gambit

**Chapter 2 - Opening Gambit**

_**Disclaimer**__: The Elder Scrolls Franchise is the intellectual and legal property of Bethseda Softworks. No copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit made.  
_**A/N: ** Dovahzul is taken from thuum dot org and I attempted to use only words confirmed by canon. I thank the folks over there for giving the Elder Scrolls fandom such an amazing resource. Translations will be provided at the end for those who would like to have them.

* * *

Paarthurnax was not the wealth of information she had been hoping for, but he still knew more than she did. It was, she thought wryly to herself, the normal way of the master and the student.

"Miraak," Paarthurnax spat the name out as if it were the vilest of poisons. "_Tol los for Zu'u lost ni hon ko lingrah tiid."_

"What would his problem with me be?" Dovrasi wondered as her master stared into the sky at the other dragons flying about them both. "Don't get me wrong; I anger plenty of people on a daily basis and most of the time I'm not even trying. But to send assassins from Solstheim seems a tad excessive." She paused as she gathered her thoughts. "Da was a miner there once, before he met Mum. He left when the ore ran out and often told us stories about the trip to Skyrim. It's not an easy trip, even leaving out Da's tendency to embellish…"she trailed off before smacking her hand into her pack indignantly. "And they called me a fake! It almost reeks of petty one upmanship."

"An accurate assessment," Paarthurnax rumbled in what could almost be called a chuckle. "He once was you are now, _Dovahkiin._ In fact, he was the first."

"He was Dragonborn?" She blinked rapidly as she tried to process this new information. "The First Dragonborn? Why haven't I heard of him? Akatosh knows I've read up on the history of the Dragonborn and this bastard's name never came up. Saint Alessia is the only one who was ever mentioned when the subject is mentioned."

"It is not surprising Miraak's name was omitted from the annals of your history." The old dragon shifted upon his Word Wall to regard her thoughtfully. "_Rok lost Dovahkiin ahrk Dovah Sonaak._"

"He was both?" Dovrasi stilled. "But didn't Kyne and Akatosh grant the blessing of Dragonborn upon the mortals as a way to end the Dragon War?"

Paarthurnax looked away from her, staring in the distance. "Miraak," he said finally, and Dovrasi again heard the near palpable distaste her master had for that name, "was loyal only unto himself."

Sensing the odd melancholy that had settled over the both of them, Dovrasi kept silent and waited. Paathurnax had never given her false or incomplete information before and so she had a feeling he wasn't quite done yet. Miraak, it was starting to seem, had a number of traits that mirrored the circumstances surrounding her mentor, so it was only natural that he picked his way carefully through this particular minefield. He still grieved at the loss of the one whom he had once called brother, and while he never blamed her for her role in Alduin's death, Paathurnax turned that censure in on himself instead. Miraak had once been a human who had served dragons, and now he was a dragon who…well, it was easy to draw parallels between the two of them. It was only fair to give him the time and space he needed to choose his words.

"_Dovah Sonaak_," Paathurnax finally said. "It was a title that held a lot of power. They were granted the same rights and power as kings. _Suleykaar bemahraan wah zein faal Dovah ol Rah_. Miraak was attracted to the power that such a position held, even during the War."

"So when the dragons began to lose…" Dovrasi murmured almost to herself, allowing a mental picture of who Miraak was to form in her head. So far, she didn't like what she saw.

"He turned to one who found his talents and abilities useful; forsaking those he had once called Master."

"He's got to be dead!" she exclaimed suddenly when she finally remembered the dates of the Dragon War and just how long ago that had been. "Who did he turn to for power? Do you know?"

"I do not know. _Zu'u kiibok fen do Bormah ahrk Kaan._ Miraak was not my concern. I do know I never trusted him."

"Sounds like I need to head to Solstheim." Dovrasi's sigh was filled with resignation.

"You knew that before you spoke with me," Paathurnax's comment was droll. "Would you deeper your understanding of a _Rotmulaag_ before you leave? Which word calls to you? _Fus, Feim, _or _Yol_?"

* * *

She had chosen to meditate on a word and as the port of Raven Rock came into view she considered how her understanding of _Fus_ had enabled her to override Captain Gjuland's obvious reluctance to return. It had been easy to cajole him into granting her passage; guilt was an underrated tool, sometimes more effective than either coercion or coin. The trick of pushing the world harder than it pushed back, she mused to herself, was to know when and how to push. A frontal assault wasn't always the best method when dealing with obstacles.

A Dunmer was waiting on the docks for them as the Northern Maiden made port. The boat had barely anchored before the mer and the Captain were in a deep discussion. Their conversation dealt with payments, the East Empire Company, money, and little details that didn't concern her. She ignored them both as she swung her pack up on her shoulder, adjusted her cloak and prepared to disembark.

"Outlander," the Dunmer called as she passed. She paused for a moment to listen.

His clothes marked him as wealthy and his body language spoke of someone used to wielding power. Considering that he was here negotiating with the captain, a mundane task if there was one, indicated he was not the leading authority in the settlement. If she had to guess, noting the lack of overall wealth evident in the poor condition of the docks, as well as the obvious repairs needed on the bulwark surrounding the city that was obvious to even the most casual observer, this man was more than likely second in command.

It wouldn't do to make enemies of the ruling body the moment she arrived. She schooled her face into a careful blank before she pulled the hood of her cloak down to indicate he had her full attention.

"May I help you, sera?" she asked, keeping her eyes locked on his even as she inflected enough polite deference in her tone to at least keep up the appearance of respect.

"I don't recognize you," he began, eyeing her as intently as she was looking at him. "I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock." His eyes flicked first to what he could see of her armor, then to the bow on her back. His eyes glittered with intelligence as they narrowed at her.

'_He's no fool,' _was her immediate thought. '_He could prove useful.'_

"I'm looking for a man named Miraak. Have you heard of him?"

There was a flicker of something approaching recognition flittered across his face before it settled into confusion. "I..I'm unsure," the mer said, his brow furrowing in concentration as he struggled to place the name. "I swear, I know the name, but I cannot place it."

"Can you tell me anything about him?" She kept her palms where he could see them, fingers slightly splayed. This man was highly suspicious of strangers and if she couldn't get him on her side, she needed him out of her way. If that meant playing harmless pussy cat, so be it.

The mer looked past her to a distant spot on her right. "I don't think so," he finally said. "I'm not…the name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think." He gestured to where his gaze rested, drawing her attention to the large structure on the outskirts of the settlement. "But I'm not sure what."

"I see," she murmured thoughtfully, mostly to herself before remembering that there was a Dunmer official standing in front of her. She bowed slightly at the waist, because her Mum had taught her good manners would get her far in life, and while they weren't quite as effective as a well-sighted arrow to the throat, her Mum had still been mostly right. "Thank you, sera."

"I am Adril Arano, Second Councilor of Raven Rock," Adril said stiffly, and she noted with some aggravation that he was still giving her some variation of the stink eye. "This is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here, you will be expected to follow all of our laws. Any questions?"

"You've made your position perfectly clear, sera." Dovrasi flipped the cassock back over her head as she bowed to the Second Councilor just before turning on her heel to enter the settlement.

Her Da had sometimes told her stories of his time on Soltsheim when she had been but a mere babe on his knee. Her first impression of the settlement matched closely with the pictures he'd painted with his words. The place was dusty, cold, worn out, and the people who lived here were even more so. The ash filled the streets, the air, and even her lungs, forcing her to cough and spit the substance out.

'_Right then. Let's find shelter, shall we?'_

It didn't take her long to find the likely watering hole; The Retching Netch had that tavern flair about its name. The contingent of guards standing loosely around the door was another tip off, and she pushed open the door to enter. After a quick scan of the people inside (_Orc with a body guard; potentially a problem. Spellsword in the corner; probably harmless if I leave him alone. Miner by the fire pit; harmless._) she turned the hood of her travel cloak back down to relish the warmth the building provided. She took a deep, appreciative breath, smiled, and headed down the stairs.

As far north as she was, she didn't expect the near coziness that greeted her in what she assumed to be the common room. A lone Dunmer was behind the counter as she approached, engaged in local gossip with a burly Nord sitting across from him. They both looked at her with curiosity as she approached. She rested her hand lightly on the chair next to the Nord, catching his eye. He shook his head at her unspoken question, and the two men wrapped up their conversation as she took a seat.

"Welcome to the Retching Netch corner club, my lady," the keep greeted her after she was comfortably settled. "My name is Geldis. What can I get you?"

From the corner of her eye she noticed the spellsword had followed her into the common room and was now approaching her on her left side. He held up two fingers to the barkeep; she decided to ignore him.

"Oh, I suppose the usual things someone like me comes to a corner club for," she replied. "Room, board, and possibly some answers."

"Room and board I can do," Geldis said as he set up two pewter mugs on the counter and began pouring. "The answers always depend on the questions." He handed both over to the Spellsword.

The sound of the pewter scraping against the wood as the Spellsword pushed one of the drinks in her direction filled her ears. She slid it back where it had come from with gritted teeth and a withering glare. The boat ride had been long; she was hungry, tired, and anxious to find out what Miraak wanted. Getting picked up by a random stranger wasn't part of her itinerary.

"I'm married," she bit off. She knew she was being brusque; in the past if she had given men the cold shoulder they invariably went off to harass more accommodating targets. It usually didn't take much more for even the stubborn types to get the hint. A deep, masculine chuckle was his response.

"Well," he said and her eyes began to widen in recognition. "Miss Lloyrn grew a spine since the last time I've seen her." In a gesture she remembered well, his fingers reached out to tug on the coppery braid of one of her forelocks.

"Teldryn," she breathed before a wide grin split her face. This time when he slid the ale back in front of her, she took it with glee. "For the record, covering up your face doesn't come across as an air of mystique. It really just says creepy madman." They touched the lips of their mugs together in toast and drank deeply.

"I won't deny that," Teldryn said. "But after traveling through the ash wastes, you aren't quite so picky about what you look like if it keeps your lungs clear." He sat back and looked over her thoroughly. "So what brings you to this gods-forsaken rock? An errand for your Da?" Teldryn looked around as if he expected to see her father around the corner.

"Relax," she snickered into her drink. "It'll be hard for him to swat at you for impinging upon his daughter's purity from Blacklight. I'm here on a personal errand." Her eyes slid back up to the Geldis. "What can you tell me about Miraak?"

The same look of almost-recognition fluttered on both Geldis and the Nord's faces that she had seen earlier on Adril's. "It sounds familiar…" Geldis was hesitant as he looked at the man seated across from him. "But I can't place why I even know the name. Does it ring any bells for you, Glover?"

Glover shook his head. "No. Almost sounds like a name I should know, though."

She turned to Teldryn. "What about you?"

The chitin helm turned back and forth in a slow shake of his head. "I'm afraid I've no more an answer than either Geldis or Glover. Any particular reason you're looking for him?" He paused, his gaze sweeping over her again, and resting on her belly. "You're not in any sort of….ah, trouble, are you?"

For a single, terrible second Dovrasi thought she was going to lose her temper and simply deck her former lover right off of his seat. It was tempting; anger hummed along her muscles and she could picture in her mind's eye how easily she would be able to do it. It took an effort, some breathing, a reminder that Teldryn had always been a little bit of an idiot who was too damn smart for his own good, before her fingers relaxed from the tight fist they reflexively had curled up into. Her eyes flashed with signs of temper as she glared at him; it mollified her somewhat to see him recoil.

"I realize," she began, and it was a wonder her words didn't turn into solid chunks of ice from her glacial tone, "that it has been quite a long time since we have had the opportunity to renew our acquaintance…But I assure you that I didn't chase anyone, let alone Miraak," here she sneered in condescending arrogance at the mere mention of the name, "across both Cyrodiil and Skyrim then past the Sea of Ghosts because he got me into the kind of trouble that you're implying." She dug into her pack to toss a few coins at Geldis. "Those cover the cost of a bed for the night?"

Geldis swept up the coins with a practiced ease as his eyes darted between the newcomer and Teldryn. "Ah, a few more moments and I will also be able to provide the food you had requested…"

"Funnily enough," she said flatly, "I seem to have lost my appetite. All I require at the moment is a bed. "

"Of course. Right this way."

Despite the pique of temper she found herself in, once she swapped out her armor for the cotton tunic and doeskin breeches she had packed, the call of the bed was stronger than her annoyance and she promptly fell asleep.

* * *

The world fell away _(here in my temple)_ as the icy hand of solitude forced closed its grip on her heart.(_here in my shrine) _ It was a painful, but necessary, realization that no one loved her,_(that you have forgotten)_ and no one cared for her on her own merits. (_here do you toil) _The Dragonborn was an idealization, the avatar of hope for the people and it was the Dragonborn they wanted._(that you might remember)_ They didn't care about Dovrasi, or her hopes, or her dreams; _(here you reclaim) _the best she could hope for was that as long as she did what was required of her, she wouldn't be abused.

A warm voice surrounded her,_ (what faithless minds have stolen) _breaking her free from the inescapable clutches of that glacial hand. It enveloped her in a cocoon of purpose; giving her the meaning she'd been looking for._ (far and from yourself)_ This voice wanted her as she was, and not the Dragonborn she was supposed to be. It was here, in the dark surrounded by glorious purpose where she wanted to stay. It would be a relief to live only for him, to further his glory and honor. She would no longer be bothered with the petty worries and concerns of the mortal realm, because he would care for her, and she would need no one else. _(I grow ever nearer to you.)_

_No, wait, this wasn't right. _

The dark solitude that had been so comforting shifted into suffocating isolation. _(Now through me do you see)_. She clawed and fought the inky blackness, _(your hands once were idle) _and there was a sinister quality threaded throughout that voice that had at first enraptured and captivated her now had her scrabbling to get away from it. _(And through them do I speak)_

Oh no, _**BALLS**_ to that, she was done being everyone's godsdamned pawn years ago and this asshole just hadn't gotten the memo. She broke free with a yell, screaming vitriol and abuse until her voice gave out and she was left panting against a pillar of stone.

"Oh no you don't, you fucking fletcher," she snarled at wherever Miraak was hiding himself, because she knew immediately that it could only be him behind this latest bit of hilarity her life had become.

"You there," a voice called. Dovrasi straightened, removing her arm from the pillar she had been leaning on to regard this stranger warily. "You don't seem to be in the same state as the others. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?"

"Catching frostbite," she snapped as she realized she was standing ankle deep in water of questionable origin. Furthermore, she noted with near clinical detachment, doeskin breeches and linen tunics were great for sleeping in a bed blanketed from the warm comfort of an inn, but provided approximately zero protection against what felt like sub-arctic temperatures. The warm glow of the fire spell she cast did some to ward off the cold, but she could feel her teeth start to chatter as the temperature started to sink into her bones.

"Mmh, yes quite," the Telvanni wizard- because with those robes and air of arrogance about him what else could he be?- made no effort to help her out of the shallow pool…or with anything else for that matter. "That much was obvious. What I want to know is why you were doing it at the Earth-Stone."

"Because Miraak is a lousy sonovabitch who's going to choke on his own entrails as soon as I figure out how to do it," she ground out through closed teeth. The Retching Netch seemed so far away from the Earth-Stone; so she did what she always did when the goal seemed too far away to reach. She focused on individual goals until she reached the main one; in this case, placing one foot in front of the other without falling into an undignified sprawl she had serious doubts she could recover from. Every step hurt, but hurt was good. Pain meant the nerves in her feet weren't dead.

'_Yet,' _she thought dourly as she stumbled on a pebble.

The wizard followed behind; she could hear the almost inaudible notations to himself as he mentally observed and categorized what was going on around him. "Miraak. Miraak…It sounds familiar but I can't quite place….Oh Wait. I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years."

"I have a feeling he's staging a comeback," Dovrasi tried to keep her violent shivering to a minimum and failed miserably. "Do you know how he could accomplish that?"

"I'm not sure, but it is fascinating, isn't it? Perhaps it has some relation to what's going on here. Quite unexpected. I'm afraid I can't give you anymore answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the Island. If I were you, I'd look there."

She was too tired to attempt even a passing anger at the unfeeling nature of the wizard as he breezed past her lurching, shivering self without even the barest hint of assistance. Not that it mattered much anyway; Dovrasi had long ago learned that the only person she could ever really rely on was herself.

There was no telling how long she'd been out there; a quick mental checklist told her that everything was still in working properly so far but the difficulty in walking, the blue, almost black tint to her hands, and the bone deep chill that had settled within her body indicated that at the very least a low grade hypothermia had set in. Her hand trembled as she reached for the door to the cornerclub, and for an awful moment her fingers forgot how to wrap themselves around the handle. Through sheer stubborn mulishness she forced her fingers to curl around the handle and open the door.

Walking into the cornerclub felt like the warmest, fluffiest blanket she'd ever slept in. She shuffled over to the fire, hugging herself tightly and hoped the clattering of her teeth wasn't as loud as she thought it was.

"What the—" Teldryn, who apparently all but lived at the cornerclub the part of her that wasn't focused on the freezing cold noted, started out of his chair and walked over to where she parked herself in front of the fire. "Don't tell me you were outside in just that!"

"I wasn't outside in just this," she snarked quietly to herself, because he wasn't there to snark at instead. He had disappeared down the stairs, missing her moment of brilliant wit, only to return a few moments later with an armful of furs and a blanket made from the white fur of a sabre cat. He flicked the blanket open and settled it over her shoulders, then proceeded to arrange the furs around her just so before dragging a chair to sit off to her right. "Your Da always said you had the common sense of a torchbug, but I would have thought you to outgrow that by now."

Dovrasi threw a stony glare at her shoulder before shifting so her back was to him. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Quit it," she said suddenly, frowning into the fire.

"Quit what?"

"Rolling your eyes," she shot him another glare. "Just because you're wearing that stupid helm doesn't mean I don't know you're doing it." She paused and muttered, "S'wit."

"I'm the s'wit?" he countered indignantly. "I'm not the one parading about half naked in this cold."

"In case it has escaped your attention," she was trying to go for low and threatening but her stupid teeth insisted on chattering and instead it just came out as sad and kind of pathetic. Not that she had a hope in Oblivion intimidating this man anyway, come to think of it. She sighed and forced herself to relax. "There's something wrong on this island; I wasn't out there by choice. There were others, surely you've noticed something odd going on. Miraak did something to me while I was sleeping, and I'm sure he's behind the strange behavior of the others too."

"Who is Miraak?" Teldryn sighed. "You keep saying that name like it means something."

"He's a rotten son of a whoring fletcher," she growled, flexing her fingers as the fire finally began leeching away the cold from her body.

"What's your business with him?"

She went quiet. The fire popped and crackled merrily in the pit and Morgol and Slitter entered to get an early start to their drinking. He sat patiently and waited.

"He wants me dead," she said finally, shrugging.

"Why would he want you dead?" There was disbelief and incredulity in his tone.

Her hard grin didn't quite reach her eyes. "Usual reason, I suppose," she said with obfuscating lightness. "I have something he wants. Since I'm not of the mind to accommodate him, I came to kill him first."

Teldryn regarded her thoughtfully. He'd been a spellsword long enough that taking a life, while it was never relegated to simple old hat, no longer carried the weight of guilt like his first kill had wrought. It was a cold, harsh, uncaring world, and it was indisputable fact that there were those who would just as soon as slit your throat for a handful of septims than look at you. You either learned to toughen up and accept that hard truth as it was, or you died from your own naivety and ignorance. Dovrasi's flat eyes and even tone indicated that she knew that truth as well as she knew her own name.

The problem he was having was that she wasn't supposed to know any aspect of that truth. He'd hated Windhelm and the bitterness that had overwhelmed his fellow Dunmer who called it home; Dovrasi had been the single, bright spot in a dreary, drab city and he'd been no more unable to stay away from her than a moth could a flame. Her father thought his darling daughter was too innocent and pure for a penniless, nameless mercenary and Teldryn had fully agreed. He was finding it difficult to reconcile the warm, giving girl he'd carried in his memories with him all these years to the obviously world-weary woman in front of him.

"Do you mean to challenge him alone?" He asked.

"He challenged me," she corrected idly, moving her joints as she tested for permanent damage. " Though for all intents and purposes, yes, I suppose I do."

"That's madness."

She looked at him and the only thing in her eyes was simple acceptance. She stood and the white blanket fell to the floor. It was left sitting there as she descended down the stairs. Half an hour later he heard her soft footfalls as she approached him and his practiced eye took in her appearance.

Her leather armor was new, custom made, and well fitted. Her bow was old, well used, and in good condition. A quiver full of ebony arrows was strapped to her back, and an amulet of Talos hung freely from her neck. His eyes focused on the bit of religious paraphernalia.

"I didn't take you to be a devout of Talos," he said.

"I'm not," she grinned cheekily and suddenly he saw the girl he remembered in this almost stranger she had become. Even though she couldn't see it, he found himself smiling back as if they shared a joke. "It's a good luck charm," she whispered conspiratorially.

"So where are you heading?"

She shifted her travel pack over her shoulder and adjusted her cloak. "I figured I'd stock up at the market, and then head towards the center of the island. I don't know if I'll get there today, but I may as well get started."

"The center..of Solstheim?" Surprise registered in his voice. Other than Raven Rock, and the Nord village to the north, he wasn't aware of any other settlements on the island. What on earth could possibly be of interest to her at the center?

"Ah," she said, looking toward the door and obviously eager to get started before she lost too much daylight. "Some jerk-ass Telvanni wizard said I should start there. Any lead is better than no lead at all."

"Do you know how to get there?"

"I know how to read a map," and there was that flash of girl-grin again before her expression sobered. She thrust her hand in his face and he took it as he stood. He felt the strength coursing in that arm through her fingers as she yanked him into a quick, one-armed hug, complete with the requisite single thump on the back.

"It was good to see you," she said with unmistakable sincerity coloring her voice. "Even if you did become a little bit of an asshat."

"An asshat."

She nodded firmly, mischief sparkling in those red eyes as she held her forefinger and thumb a space apart. "Little bit, yes. I just wanted you to know that if I lose."

"That I'm an asshat?"

"That it was good to see you," she clarified and hugged him again.

"I'll come with you," he blurted out as she let him go, taking himself by surprise almost as much as she was.

She considered it, chewing on her bottom lip as she mulled over the pros and cons. "Better not," she said slowly. "The last thing I need is for Miraak to think that I have an emotional connection to someone and exploit it."

"So hire me," Teldryn pressed. "Five hundred septims, and you become my employer. Then it's nothing more than a business arrangement."

Her mouth pursed as she weighed this new variable. "Your employer," she said, enunciating the second word carefully, trying it out in her mouth as she tasted what it felt like.

"All you want from me is an able bodied spellsword to watch your back."

"And you get from me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Five hundred septims, and an equal share of any future spoils."

"That's it?" There was a layer to that question, one he almost missed, causing him to hesitate before answering.

"That's it," he chose his next words carefully. "I want nothing more from you than the opportunity to earn coin. You want nothing more from me than someone competent to watch your back."

Her shoulders visibly relaxed as she turned his words over in her head. A small smile spread over her face as she tossed him a pouch of the agreed upon amount.

"Welcome aboard," she said, turning on her heel to head to the door. He followed immediately.

* * *

Notes:  
_Tol los for Zu'u lost ni hon ko lingrah tiid." – _That is a name I have not heard for a long time.

_Rok lost Dovahkiin ahrk Dovah Sonaak._ _– _He was both Dragonborn and Dragon Priest.

_Suleykaar bemahraan wah zein faal Dovah ol Rah_._ – _[It] was a powerful motivator to worship the dragons as Gods.

_Zu'u kiibok fen do Bormah ahrk Kaan_- I was serving the will of Kyne.

_Rotmulaag _– Word of Power

The author humbly thanks you for taking the time to read this story.


	3. Clearing The Air

**Queen Takes Pawn  
Chapter 3 - Clearing The Air**

_**Disclaimer**__: The Elder Scrolls Franchise is the intellectual and legal property of Bethseda Softworks. No copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit made._

**A/N:** It wasn't my intention to take quite so long with this third chapter; I had the first draft written in a matter of days, but the revision process took longer than I had anticipated. I wish to express heartfelt thanks for everyone who has taken the time out of their day to read my little contribution to the Elder Scrolls fandom. For those who have opted to follow my story, I hope that I have not and will not disappoint you. For those who have taken the time to leave a review, you have both my aforementioned heartfelt thanks, and sincere gratitude!

* * *

Teldryn was Dovrasi's constant shadow; he was never more than five feet away as she made her way methodically around the market place. She began first at the alchemist, continued in a clockwise circuit, finally culminating her perusal of the wares offered for sale at the general goods. More importantly, and frankly concerning, was how quickly she had become so attuned to his presence; it was frightening to realize she could close her eyes and pinpoint his location with unnerving accuracy. It didn't help that she knew in intimate detail what that handsome face looked like underneath the Chitin helm. Her hormones were fickle, traitorous things that were bound and determined to pave their way to Oblivion and drag the rest of her with them. Even her brain, usually practical, sensible and reliable when everything else turned to absolute piss, failed her spectacularly. It insisted on bringing to the forefront of her mind scenes from their past; their first meeting, their first kiss, and the wonderful times they had spent together.

With a resolve garnered from Tiber Septim himself, she girded her loins and shoved her baser urges and impulses back into the furthest recesses of her mind where they wouldn't see the light of day any time soon.

Distracted by her own thoughts, and very aware of just who was causing her such discomfort, she was only barely paying attention as Fethis was asking her something. "Mmh," she hummed in agreement, hoping that the merchant hadn't noticed she'd only been half listening.

"Oh that's fantastic," Fethis enthused. "I realize it's asking quite a bit, but I'll pay well for each one you find."

Dovrasi blinked at Fethis who had gone back to tending to the leather stretched out on his tanning rack. "Teldryn," she hissed in an undertone. "What did I just agree to?"

Teldryn's reply was distinctly amused. "For Fethis? To collect some pendants."

She waited a moment as she considered the implications of the strange emphasis he had placed on the general merchant's name before grinding the heel of her palm into her forehead. Teldryn chuckled softly as he ticked off the other favors she'd agreed to while she'd been…er…distracted.. "For Milore, you've agreed to fetch her Netch Jellies. Five should do it, she said. For Glover, there's a pickaxe he'd like back from Crescius, and to seek out a folio for Cindri. Seems you still have trouble saying no after all these years."

"I," she sighed gustily, "am an idiot and I am leaving before someone asks me to stop an assassination plot, because they think I don't have enough to do already."

True to her word, she intentionally pointed herself at the exit of the settlement and proceeded to take long, deliberate strides away from the market while making a point to avoid eye contact with anyone she may have passed. Annoyance at falling so easily into her old patterns showed in her gait, but had the surprising side effect of pushing out her distraction over Teldryn from the forefront of her mind. She was absurdly grateful for that, come to think of it.

"So why don't you just say no?" Teldryn fell into step beside her as he caught up. "You would have every right."

"Oh I don't know," she huffed in frustration at herself. "I guess…well they can't go get it themselves, can they? They'd get killed with what's out there. And it's not like it'll cost me anything if I happen to come across what it is they're…what in the name of all the planes in Oblivion are those?!"

At the bottom of the hill a group of lurching, hulking bohemoths had set upon two of the Redoran Guard who patrolled around Raven Rock. The two were fighting bravely against their enemies, but it was clear to see that they were outnumbered, outmuscled, and outmatched. Both Dovrasi and Teldryn broke into a run in an attempt to assist them.

"I've heard the guard talking about ash spawn!" Teldryn shouted grimly as Dovrasi aimed her bow at one of the monsters. She managed to fire off three shots before he finished casting the spell that would summon his flame atronach. "I'm guessing that's what they were referring to!"

One of the guards went down among the blows of the ash spawn, and Dovrasi knew that he was dead. Instead of taking the time to mourn him, she and Teldryn focused on getting to the side of the Guard who was still alive. The ash spawn were as difficult to defeat as their first instant impression had lead them to believe. Between Teldryn's magic, the Guard's sword work, and Dovrasi's bow they managed to defeat the rest of the group before anyone else was struck down.

"Sero," the survivor said, sheathing his weapon. He acknowledged Dovrasi with a nod of his head.

"Captain Veleth," Teldryn greeted as Dovrasi knelt by the ash piles.

"New employer?" the Captain indicated Dovrasi who was currently shifting through the ash with her fingers. "Handles herself well."

That she handled herself well had been something Teldryn noted with surprise. There hadn't been a hitch while she'd been drawing her bow, even running as quickly as she had been. Each arrow had found its target with unnerving accuracy. When he had asked her to employ him, it had been done with the expectation that he would be serving in a bodyguard role with the brunt of the fighting falling towards him. This competence- or even the level of synchronization of their fighting styles - this small battle had hinted at had been unexpected.

"Seems like these attacks have been increasing," Teldryn remarked instead of replying to Veleth's comment.

"They have been," Veleth admitted, running a hand over his weary face. "And strangely enough, they seem to be organizing. They're attacking my men constantly. If this assault keeps up…" he trailed off, almost as if he were afraid to give voice to the possible outcome of what he was suggesting.

"Captain," Dovrasi approached, a piece of dirtied, ash-stained parchment held gingerly in her fingers. "I found this on the…er…in the—", she floundered before giving up and simply pointed to one of the ash piles. Captain Veleth's brow furrowed as he took the proffered note to begin reading it.

"Well, this complicates matters," he murmured before carefully folding the note and tucking it into his armor. "A declaration of war on Raven Rock by General Falx Carius. Who happens to have died 200 years ago when Red Mountain leveled Fort Frostmoth."

"Seems to be a common theme around here," Dovrasi muttered sourly. The Captain ignored her.

"There's no way he could still be alive. If he is still alive, there's something keeping him that way, " Veleth said, still mostly addressing Teldryn. "Is there any way I could have you head to Fort Frostmoth to assess the situation for me? I don't really have the men to spare and I am loathe to leave Raven Rock behind."

"I've already been contracted," Teldryn shrugged his shoulder apologetically as he gestured to Dovrasi; she was starting to develop that same pinched look on her face she had worn when she was younger. He remembered seeing it mostly when she knew her Da was preparing to ask her to perform a particularly distasteful chore. She stood there with her arms crossed, and a near palpable resentment that would have been funny if it weren't so…not.

"Lass," Veleth began.

"Don't call me lass," she said flatly. "The last guy who called me lass didn't get what he wanted either."

"I realize you came to Solstheim to take care of your own business," Veleth changed tactics. Teldryn watched on in curiosity as the Captain attempted diplomacy. "But the ash spawn attacks are a serious threat to the security of Raven Rock. You would be doing the citizenry a great service by investigating this lead."

There was a moment of almost eerie calm…right before Dovrasi exploded into a litany of the vilest, horrific brand of invective Teldryn had ever heard. She began by questioning Miraak's paternity, listed the precise and detailed activities the ash spawn were entitled to, and then swore at someone named Alduin in an excruciating, attentive, intimate bullet point list as she went into his probable sexual habits and perversions. She ended by sighing gustily, pinching the bridge of her nose with a dark scowl set firmly on her face and a muttered "Boethiah's tits, I do not have time for _**this shit**_."

Both men gave her a minute. She seemed to need it.

"On a scale of one to ten," she began after taking several deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, "how dire is this ash spawn situation?"

Veleth gave the question the appropriate amount of thought before answer. "I'd say at least an eight. If not pushing a nine."

There was another loud inhale-exhale as Dovrasi considered this. "If I agree to do this," she finally said, though her tone wasn't even; there was an undercurrent of crazy lying in wait underneath the service. "I need you to promise me you'll interfere with the work going on at the Earth Stone."

"Interfere?"

"Stall." She clarified, removing her fingers from the bridge of her nose and opening her eyes. "Without making it seem like you're stalling. If he knows what you're doing, he'll retaliate."

"Him?"

"MIraak." Dovrasi placed a hand on Veleth's shoulder as his brow furrowed as he tried to place where he'd heard that name before. "He's a worse threat than the Ash Spawn, though not quite as immediate. Do this for me, and he'll hold."

"I can manage that." Veleth said, and the lack of hesitation in his tone had Dovrasi mostly forgiving him for saddling her with another responsibility. She nodded once before stalking off without another word. Teldryn followed closely behind.

* * *

Teldryn was silent as Dovrasi took the lead. She kept them on track by frequently consulting her map, comparing their position to that of the sun then, if it were necessary, adjusted their course accordingly. When the sky was overcast with both snow and the falling ash from Red Mountain, leaving the sun invisible, she would pull out a small clear stone and peered through it until she located it. She was astoundingly competent at this whole adventuring business; she'd surprised him thrice over with that same efficiency and knowledge of what she was doing. The ash spawn attack and the navigational ability aside, what had really cemented his admiration was how neatly she'd managed to avoid getting them both tangled into a battle between a pyromancer and an ice wizard.

It had been she who had heard them first; little surprise since the only thing she wore on her head was a jeweled circlet she said helped with her archery and he sported a full facial helmet. She stopped and gestured for him to duck behind a nearby cove of trees just before they were discovered by a couple of wizards engaged in a battle. His first instinct had been to fight, especially considering that they were no more than 20 or so feet away from their flimsy hiding spot. But she had remained still, keeping her eyes and her ears on the battle in front of them.

"Let's allow them to kill each other off," she had whispered, staying his hand as they watched the battle play out from behind their cover. "There's no telling what we're going to encounter in Frostmoth and we may need to be cautious of our supplies."

It had been a valid point, one he couldn't simply dismiss. So he'd cancelled his summoning spell as he crawled after her as she had crept away from the two mages. When it became obvious that they would not be followed, and more than likely hadn't been noticed, they both released the breath they had been holding. The rest of the way to Fort Frostmoth was uneventful and in a matter of two hours, they could see the crumbling stone walls of the once proud towers come into view. Dovrasi, as was becoming apparent, favored a cautious approach. She broke into a sprint toward an outcropping of rocks close to the walls, dropping into a crouch as soon as she spotted a sentinel on the top of one of the remaining towers. She peered over the rocks to get a better look, and Teldryn did the same.

"Three," she whispered.

"I only see two."

"You're missing the one by the water's edge. He blends in."

Teldryn squinted and looked again. She was right; he had missed the sentry by the docks.

"I'll take the one up there," she jerked her thumb upward. "If my luck holds, I'll be able to take him in one shot. If I do, take the one by the docks, and I'll concentrate my fire on the guy on the right."

She didn't even wait for him to express either approval or disapproval of her plan. She simply adjusted her position, eyed her target, drew her bow, and fired. There was no choice but to adhere to the simple plan she had outlined not even a full minute prior.

His last patron had known nothing of the art of subtlety or strategy. Tyr War-Monger had been a Nord's Nord; he'd lived for and thrived in the heat of battle. There had never been any plan more complicated than the old hit-them-before-they-hit-you strategy. It was Tyr's relentless pursuit of honor and glory (Not to mention a one way ticket to Sovngarde) that had eventually forced Teldryn to break off his arrangement with his employer. It was nice to finally work with someone who thought less about the fight, and rather focused on what it was that they were fighting for.

It was surprising that he was enjoying this synchronization with a girl who had once refused to leave so much the Gray Quarter without her father's say-so. When he'd offered to put himself under her employ in the Retching Netch, it had been that girl-grin of hers that had prompted his sudden and unexpected proposal. That grin had brought out the same waif who'd needed protection from the Nords' racism and bullying; who had run to him when her brother's teasing became too much; who had believed that all it took to fix a person's day was a sunny smile and a word of encouragement.

He'd idolized her in her youth, he was starting to realize. He had set her upon a pedestal made of her innocence and purity.

In the intervening years since he had last saw her, someone had knocked that halo she had worn like a crown right off of her pretty little head and had tarnished most of the glitter right off of it. She had gone from this epitome of an ideal to an equal.

An equal would not be heart-breakingly out of reach.

As she had hoped, a single arrow, along with precise aim, dropped the sentry on the tower before either of the spawn guarding the towers on the ground were none the wiser. As planned, he took the one on the left as Dovrasi smoothly switched her aim from the high point on the tower to the ash spawn on the right. Both were dispatched with an ease that had them both on edge; Dovrasi was straining to tell if any sounds of the fight had reached any of their compatriots inside. As seconds turned into minutes and no one came pouring out of the doors, they approached the fort with caution.

They both regarded the only door either of them could find with a mixture of resignation and caution.

"There's no way it's not a trap," she muttered.

Teldryn hummed his agreement.

"Do you have a detect life spell?"

"That won't work through walls this thick, even if Ash Spawn could be detected with it."

"Shit," she swore inelegantly and Teldryn found he rather agreed with the sentiment. There was a flash of blue and then she was holding a wispy conjured blade. He followed suit by summoning his atronach. He took point and she let him.

There was an immediate call to arms from the waiting regiment- if you can call a gathering of beings held together by ash and magic that- as ash spawn surrounded and outnumbered them the moment they stepped into the fort. For every spawn they managed to reduce into a mere pile, two more seemed to take their place. They weren't intelligent, they were mindless thugs who had been ordered to go after the intruders and that is what they did. The only advantages Dovrasi and Teldryn had were their clearly superior brain power and agility. But even then it was only two against twenty, forty, sixty, and in those kinds of odds superior brain power and agility doesn't stand much chance against raw, brute strength that never tires. Using the last of his magicka supply Teldryn managed to clear a short path to one of the many types of scaffolding that had littered the interior of the fort. Dovrasi caught on to what he was doing so quickly that she may as well have been reading his mind; she had scampered up the wooden platforms so quickly he'd been momentarily reminded of a monkey. Soon enough they were both out of reach of the swarming masses clamoring for their blood below.

"This," Dovrasi grouched, "did not go to plan."

She sounded so put out and offended that Teldryn barked out a short laugh. She sounded as if this were no more an annoyance than someone stealing her sweetroll. "You had a plan?" He chuckled.

"Of course I had a plan. I always have a plan," she sniffed. "This one just turned to shit when I grossly underestimated their available numbers." She rummaged through her pack until she found a blue bottle. She tossed it to Teldryn who drank the draught gratefully.

"Don't cast anything yet," she forewarned. "I only have one more of those, and I need to re-strategize."

"Can you shoot them?"

She gestured to a corner where the last bit of the sun glinted off the black ebony of her bow. It was almost like a wave, saying hi, I miss you. She missed it right back.

"Right then," she said suddenly. "Parameters have changed and we need a new plan. The floor is open to suggestions."

"Can you conjure a bow?"

She shook her head. "No, I never bothered to learn that spell. Didn't seem to be a point."

He sighed. "Neither have I. I wish I knew of a spell that could make them not quite so formidable. They're strong, but they're slow. If it didn't take so much effort, it wouldn't be difficult to defeat them, even with their numbers."

It was Dovrasi's turn to hum in agreement as she eyed the steadily growing mob below them. "That would be nice," she said absently. "Weaken them to a point where a single Shout could…" she trailed off as her spine shot upright. "Teldryn, you're a genius."

"Eh?"

She didn't explain as she wiggled into position. The grin she flashed him this time didn't remind him of a girl; this one brought to mind a dragon- all teeth and ferocious claws.

"**KRII LUN AUS!**" She bellowed into the throng below; Teldryn could feel a power behind her yell that marked it as no simple battle cry. Exactly one minute after, she adjusted her seat on the scaffolding so she was facing an entirely new group of spawn and yelled it again.

He watched her repeat the process five times, and then ten, always making sure she was aiming at a different area of the room and catching different spawn until his curiosity finally got the better of him and he asked just what exactly was she doing, please?

At this point she was hanging upside down by her knees as she directed her Shouts in the opposite part of the room she had started with. "Shouting," she said, surprised. After all wasn't it obvious what it was that she was doing?

"I get that," Teldryn intoned, hoisting her right side up when she held out her hand for assistance. "I'd like to know what it means."

"Oh," she tried to massage away the headache that had formed from all the blood that had rushed to her head while she had been performing her acrobatics. "Well it doesn't translate well, but a loose interpretation would be Marked for Death."

"Translate?"

She nodded. "From Dovahkzul. The..er, the language of the dragons."

"How did you learn the language of the dragons?"

"I picked it up from the Greybeards?" she hedged, starting to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"The Greybeards? Didn't the Jarl's son study with them?"

"Uh…yeah." She blinked at him.

"You mean your…what is it that the Nords call that shouty thing?"

"The Thu'um?"

"Yes. Why are Nords teaching a Dunmer one of their traditions?"

"Because Akatosh has an odd sense of humor and I'm proof," she sighed. There was a loose stone wedged in the wall over her head and she reached up to wiggle it out. She took a few moments to heft it, testing its weight and then eyed one of the spawn beneath them speculatively. Her eyes flicked back and forth as she considered both the stone and the spawn before she dropped the rock squarely on its head. The rock disappeared into a shower of ash.

"Ha!" she exclaimed, jumping off of her perch to land in the middle of the throng. She feinted left, dodging the blow aimed at her head and retaliated with a blow of her own; the spawn disintegrated in one hit. Teldryn joined her and with an ease that mocked their earlier struggle they cut through their enemies until there was nothing left.

"You…" he began, but stopped himself before continuing. He was remembering the night before in the Retching Netch, and just now how her expression had shuttered closed as he had begun asking her personal questions up there on the scaffolding. He took a deep breath and tried again. "You don't owe me an explanation," he conceded, and was rewarded as that guarded expression she wore slipped a fraction. "But I would like to hear one."

She frowned at him, clearly unhappy with his request. "I really don't want to," she muttered, and he had a feeling that she had directed that mostly toward herself.

It was on the tip of his tongue to retract his request; he even opened up his mouth to say it. But she held up a hand to stop him.

"Let's take care of the Commander," she suggested. "If you still want to know, I'll tell you then. "

They fell into a pattern as they combed through the rest of the fort; she would Shout, he would attack. There was a brief minor moment of panic when they came across a locked door, but by rifling through the disintegrating knapsacks of soldiers long since dead, they were able to find a key that would unlock the door. After the sheer amount of difficulty that it took to get that far to face the Commander, their battle with him was almost anti-climactic. He had his ash spawn, but they had strategy, and in the end it was their teamwork that had triumphed.

"We should burn him," Dovrasi said as she looked down on the Commander's corpse as the ash settled around her. "He deserves an honorable send off. Him, and the remains of that soldier we found in that last room."

"Agreed," Teldryn walked over and hefted the Commander up on his shoulders. Dovrasi went to the skeletal remains of the crushed soldier and gathered them, along with the four letters to his wife, respectfully in her arms. Teldryn returned to help her with the weight, and if she had a tear in her eye, he didn't comment on it.

Building the makeshift pyre was quiet, sober work. Neither said a word as they gathered the wood necessary, and that silence remained until both moons were high in the sky. General Carius was laid carefully in a pose that was reminiscent of sleep, and the skeleton of Maximian Axius was laid out with his four unsent letters surrounding his body. The Gods must have known and approved of their plan; the wood caught fire immediately and soon both remains were embraced by the roaring warmth of flame. It seemed appropriate to watch and stand guard as the long overdue last rites of both of those brave men were honored. They both took a seat and bore witness to the simple ceremony.

Dovrasi was familiar with how Dunmer respected their honored ancestors, and even had a working knowledge of Nordic culture in regards to burial rites. She had a vague notion that Imperials preferred to bury their dead much like the Nords did, but had no worries that they had somehow disrespected the spirits of the two men they had chosen to honor. There was an almost otherworldly sense of contentment and peace that shrouded both her and Teldryn that lead her to believe that the men were happy that they were being honored and remembered, even if it wasn't through a tradition from their culture.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Teldryn spoke up suddenly. He was very quiet, and his eyes did not leave the pyre. "I don't have the right to impose on you if you would rather not share."

She stared at him and Teldryn had the fleeting impression that she was really seeing him for the first time since she had entered the Retching Netch. It occurred to him that maybe he hadn't been the only one who had been looking at the present through the eyes of the past.

"You've got to understand," she spoke slowly, feeling her way through what she wanted to say. "It's difficult to just blurt out – I've kept it low profile for so long and for a lot of good reasons – that I don't want to tell anyone, and when I do tell, it's usually under the heavy weight of obligation."

"I already said –"

"I know what you said," she waved off his disclaimer with an imperious gesture of her hand. "I kind of want to tell you. But I don't know if it's going to change anything. I don't want you to start acting different."

Teldryn snorted. "What kind of secret would make that sort of impact?"

"You'd be surprised," she said sourly.

* * *

It was a difficult thing to explain, she began. There were books about Dragonborns of course, detailing their life and their histories. Saint Alessia had been Dragonborn, as had been Reman Cyrodiil. Tiber Septim had been, and purportedly so had been his progeny all the way until Emperor Martin Septim. There was a disconnection between the information in the books and the reality, at least as she understood it, because the books all but ignored the dragon aspect of being the dragon born.

Dragons had disappeared in the Merethic Era, and they had been gone for so long that their existence had been relegated to mere myth. It left the impression that Dragonborn was nothing but a mere title. The books didn't talk about how innate instinct demanded supplication of the conquered foes who had set themselves against her, or her desire to be recognized and praised for her exploits and heroic deeds. "In hindsight," she sighed, "that desire for recognition was probably the biggest reason I made some of my worst life choices."

She talked about Bleak Falls Barrow and of the Word Wall that had been buried deep in its bowels. There had been an inescapable pull when she had first seen the Barrow escaping from Helgen with Hadvar; the pull had been weak from where they had stood on the road leading to Riverwood, but enough that the place had made an impression on her. When she had been sent to retrieve that stone for the Court Wizard, it had only cemented the idea that her fate was somehow tied into that bleak monstrosity shadowing the small village at its feet. That small tug she had felt from the road became a yank as she fought her way into the depths of Bleak Falls; past the bandits, and the spiders and the draugr that she hadn't been skilled enough to handle but she'd somehow managed to defeat anyway. Through sheer luck and determination to answer that ineluctable call she managed to defeat the Draugr Deathlord and had been shown a glimpse of power. There weren't words in any language that could accurately describe what felt like; to feel pure concentrated knowledge being absorbed into your very being and to know the rightness of it. It had been the acknowledgement of a birthright she hadn't even known she'd possessed.

It was the same, she continued, with dragon souls. Dragon culture was built upon the foundation of strength and wisdom; might made right, if you will. Killing a dragon and taking their soul, absorbing the sum of their knowledge and strength to add to her own became akin to an addiction. Dragon lairs became her favorite haunts; they were old places, sacred places seeped with both history and power, causing the dragons to flock to them. Addicted to that flood of potent stew of summation of that dragon's knowledge, she had in turn headed to where the dragons were. Although she had feared and dreaded that final confrontation with Alduin, she couldn't deny the thrill of anticipation in the time that had led up to that fight, or the surge of bitter disappointment when she wasn't able to claim his soul for her own.

She talked so long that the pyre had been reduced to burning cinders and both moons were low in the sky. There was a glow over the horizon that hinted at the sunrise. Teldryn shifted beside her, and even though she was ashamed of her cowardice, she couldn't bring herself to look at him as she stared straight ahead into the dying embers.

"Hero of Legend," he mused. There was that tone of awe and wonder that, given enough time, usually turned into calculating slyness when anyone began to really consider how she could benefit them personally. Teldryn had always been fond of coin and the sudden pang of regret had her sifting through an unpleasant stew of worried anxiety. "That doesn't surprise me like you think it ought to."

"Eh?" She was so startled she turned to face him, slack jawed and wide eyed.

Teldryn shrugged. "I met the Nevevarine once," he mentioned casually. "He was old, and I was but a mere boy but it always struck me that no matter how world-weary he was, his heart was always about protecting the people. And this was a trait you shared with him. I thought that back then, and I still think that now. It's why you agreed to help Veleth today, and why you punched that Nord in Windhelm when you were younger."

"I broke my hand doing that," she shook her hand in remembered pain.

"And his nose," Teldryn chuckled. "You were terrified he'd have you arrested because his brother was the Jarl's housecarl."

"I was terrified after I stopped being so mad," she admitted. "From the way he talked I was going to be arrested simply for being a Dunmer outside of the Gray Quarter. Luckily the guards had more sense than he did."

"Would being arrested have stopped you?"

"Well…no. He was so much bigger than that poor girl. Furthermore it was obvious she wasn't interested in what he was offering. And he was a jerk and a bully all around!"

Teldryn's fingers ghosted along the skin of her cheek, startling her out of her reverie. "That's what I mean," he murmured. "I don't think the gods are quite so bad about their business as to arrange a hero who wasn't interested in protecting anyone." He stood to head back into the fort. "I think it's time we get some sleep. Do you want first or second watch?"

Still feeling the texture of his fingers on her cheek, Dovrasi chose the first.


End file.
